We All Fall Down
by Tsuru-san
Summary: It's 1350 AD, and under Hell's direction, the Black Death is ravaging Europe. Raphael is sent from Heaven to put a halt to the massive destruction, but Hell will not allow its plans to be thwarted so easily. ...mild AsmodeusRaphael slash...


**AN**: It has been a while, hasn't it? (checks calendar) Hmm, just under two years since my last Bible fic. However, after doing a Biblical-based novel for NanNoWriMo this year, my interest in Asmodeus and Raphael seemed to come back tenfold. Plenty of new plotbunnies have been spawned, but I'm mainly trying to fix the old stories first. They don't completely suck, but they're all in need of editing and some need to be really fleshed out. Anyways, I've finished editing Sleep Well, The Difference Between Demons and Angels, Patience, and Shadows. The rest of the stories should be tidied up soon.

**AN 2**: The title for this story is a reference to the nursery rhyme "Ring around the rosie" which (as proposed in 1961) some people believe was a reference to the Black Death. However, the rhyme has never been authentically linked to the Black Death.

**AN 3**: Merry Christmas/Kwanza/Hanukkah/etc., everyone! I hope your holidays are lovely.

* * *

Raphael staggered down the cracked, earthen steps and into the cool darkness of Lord Mevrial's wine cellar, the feathers of his drooping wings scraping against the walls. The spacious, low-ceilinged storage room was well-stocked with tantalizing vintages even in the midst of the Black Death's ravages, but the angel had not come here for spirits; he'd come for rest. 

Even with all the reports that had been coming to Heaven left and right, the Angel of Healing still hadn't fully grasped the scope and the destruction of the Bubonic Plague until he'd seen it firsthand. Although natural in its origin, the vast spreading of the deadly virus could only have been achieved through infernal assistance. As soon as he had touched down in the south of France, Raphael had been half suffocated by the combined reek of human suffering and demonic energy.

Brooking no arguments, Raphael had speedily marshaled all the lesser angelic agents stationed on Earth into some semblance of order. Prior to the archangel's arrival, the other heavenly beings had been nearing a state of abject panic. They had never experienced a catastrophe like this before on such a massive scale, and the plague just _wouldn't stop_. The angels would secure an area, but then the disease would return as soon as they tried to help somewhere else. Dividing the angels into sections throughout Europe, Raphael chose to devote nearly all of heaven's influence to the task of stifling the epidemic. As for himself, the archangel flitted about everywhere healing—healing on grand scale, healing until he was finally ready to keel over from the energy drain.

That was why Raphael was hiding here now. He hadn't quite reached the breaking point yet, but he was nearing it. Slumping down against a barrel of mead, the archangel dimmed his aura down completely, drawing his remaining energy inside himself. He stoked his divine powers as one would pressure the embers of a dying fire to catch light again. The healer knew he had pushed himself too far; expending energy to critical levels was dangerous, and if he was weakened too greatly, the angel would be forced to return to heaven to recover.

Raphael was well aware that he could not afford that risk. Heaven's tenuous control of the situation here in Europe would likely fall apart should the Angel of Healing be laid up recuperating in Heaven for what could easily amount to a months or more.

The archangel shuddered with exhaustion, his robes heavy on his frame, constricting even. The angel's brow furrowed slightly in a frown. Surely he could not be so tired that his very clothes weighed him down? No, something was wrong. Even with his divine senses toned down, something even deeper, some innate warning, stirred within the angel, and Raphael forced his flickering aura to life, but it was already too late.

Just as the angel's aura flared, the demonic shadows that had been surreptitiously draping themselves upon Raphael came to life as well. Shifting against the angel and each other with a raspy sound like that of dried leaves blown about, the tendrils of shadow snaked and coiled their way around the healer's arms, waist, wrists, and wings.

Raphael struggled furiously against the darkness and was able to stagger to his feet, but he could get no further. The more effort the angel exerted, the more the shadows clung, and had he been human, Raphael was certain that he would have suffocated by now.

"The more you fight, the tighter they squeeze," a silky voice purred helpfully in Raphael's ear. "And I advise you to turn down that aura too."

Raphael started in shock but managed to turn his head around to see who was speaking though, of course, the angel already knew.

Asmodeus regarded the frightened healer with bright scarlet eyes and a pleased grin. His huge batlike wings were spread out behind him, making him seem even taller in the basement room. "Salutationsss," the demon hissed. Reaching out, Asmodeus tilted Raphael's head up. "Hmm, you don't appear to be in good health, pretty one." A forked tongue flickered out from the demon's mouth, tasting the air. "And your energy levels have taken a most severe thrashing."

The archangel plucked up his courage enough to glare defiantly at the demon. "Depart from here at once, Archdemon Asmodeus. You are the Marquis of the Seventh Circle of Hell, not an infernal agent on Earth. You have no jurisdiction here."

The archdemon laughed dryly. "Oh healer, bureaucratic red tape will not save you now."

Raphael tried to draw back, but by yanking on the shadows that bound the angel's arms, Asmodeus pulled the heavenly being forward. An unnatural, hellish heat radiated from the dark armor that cover Asmodeus's torso, and Raphael could feel the warmth even through his robes.

Asmodeus moved closer to Raphael, and the tips of their noses touched, and then their lips...

"Marquis Asmodeus._Stop_."

More surprising than someone speaking out was that Asmodeus actually _listened_ to the interloper. As far as Raphael was aware from his limited knowledge of Hell and its hierarchy, there were only two demons who outranked Asmodeus: Beelzebub, Duke of the Seventh Circle, and Lord Lucifer himself.

"Couldn't have waited ten more seconds, could you?" Asmodeus laughed softly, still so close that his breath brushed gently against Raphael's lips. The angel shivered a little at the unexpected intimacy that was somehow even more invasive than the almost-kiss. Then Asmodeus drew back, and Raphael realized that he was cold without the press of the demon's warm armor against his chest. However, now the archangel was at least able to look over Asmodeus's shoulder to see who had joined them.

The new demon was smaller in stature, slender and petit, and unlike Asmodeus, the shorter demon's wings were not unfurled. His dark form of dress was austere and stark and rather...familiar. It took Raphael a moment to recognize the outfit—after all, he'd never seen it on a demon before—but when he did, the angel felt a little pang of righteous anger course through him. The long tunic was the _vestis talaris_, Latin for the cassock that priests were supposed to wear. The outfit even had the white collar at the throat.

Around the demon's neck was a simple wooden crucifix, but it was fastened upside-down in a subtle show of blasphemy. Beneath bangs of inky blue-black hair, slit-pupil orange eyes smoldered, and perched on the bridge of his nose was a pair of half-circle spectacles. It was indeed Beelzebub himself, the Duke of the Seventh Circle and the Archdemon of Wrath, the Lord of Flies and Lucifer's second in command.

"Greetingz, Thrones Raphael. My but it has been a while." Except for the slight buzz, Duke Beelzebub had a chilly yet dulcet voice which was both soothing and unnerving at once.

Raphael glared daggers at the Duke and stood with as much dignity as he could muster with the shadows still coiled around him. "With all due respect, Duke Beelzebub, you and Marquis Asmodeus are out of your respective spheres of influence."

"I'm afraid you'll find that that statement izz untrue." Beelzebub smiled unkindly, and a scroll of parchment materialized in his hands. "Duke Beelzebub and Marquis Asmodeus," he read, "it hast come to my attention that certain agendas set to be carried out upon Earth are in jeopardy due to the most loathsome interference of divine entities, especially Thrones Raphael, one of the Seven Archangels of the Lord. Due to the extreme nature of this dilemma, thou art authorized to use any means thou feelst necessary short of engaging the Enemy in open hostility, etc., etc." Beelzebub re-rolled the parchment, and it vanished in a puff of smoke. "It goes on in that vein for a stretch before a signature at the bottom which you would indubitably recognize as Lord Lucifer's. So you see, we don't have to worry about regulations; we have orders from the boss himself."

Raphael tensed, knowing that he was well and truly in trouble. Asmodeus and Beelzebub hadn't accidentally stumbled across him; they'd come here _looking_ for him. Mentally preparing for the worst, the archangel looked from one demon to the other. "What will you do with me now then?" he asked flatly. "Are you planning to kill me?"

Asmodeus chuckled, the shadows holding Raphael shifting slightly. "Not exactly. We're skating on a bit of thin ice as it is already. The whole Plague thing? Not technically against the rules, but it's edging fairly close to the metaphorical line in the sand. Permanently putting an angel of your stature out of commission would greatly displease our Master and open up a very nasty can of worms."

"So alas, we cannot kill you for that might spark a diplomatic incident that our Lord Lucifer wishezz to avoid," Beelzebub finished.

Raphael felt little assurance from this. Raphael knew well of Asmodeus, and if even a fraction of the stories about Beelzebub were true, then the demon could inflict far worse consequences than death. "If you don't intend my death, then what will you do?"

"We need you to return to heaven." Deftly plucking the half-circle spectacles from his face, Beelzebub began cleaning the lenses on the sleeve of his robe. "So will you leave now, or shall we do this the hard way?"

Raphael was fiercely proud of the glare he managed to give the Duke.

Beelzebub nodded. "I see, so it's the hard way then." He put his glasses back on before walking demurely over to Asmodeus and Raphael. The Duke placed one hand on Raphael's head, clawed fingers tangling in the angel's auburn hair, and the other hand he laid over the angel's heart. Beelzebub looked into Raphael's eyes, orange meeting green, and said very seriously without a trace of remourse, "This is going to hurt a lot, you realize."

It wasn't a question, but even if it had been, Raphael would've been unable to answer as sheer _pain_ swept through his entire body. It was as if Beelzebub had clawed his way the through the angel's flesh, gotten down to his aura, and then _pulled_. That was the only way to describe it: like something vital and important and necessary was being wrenched from Raphael's innermost being. The archangel had thought he'd felt drained before! Now Beelzebub was literally sucking the life out of him.

It dragged on and on like being disemboweled over and over again. Even after the Duke relented, Raphael still felt as if his insides were on fire. His knees buckled, and if it hadn't been for the tendrils of shadow, the angel would've fallen to the ground. As it was, he ended up leaning against something hard and metallic, one hand splayed across the surface that warmed him through the fabric of his glove. Vaguely, the archangel realized the heat was coming from Asmodeus's armor, but Raphael didn't care, and he pressed closer, trying to take in any warmth the strange metal had to offer. There was also the dim sensation of someone—Asmodeus?—holding him, but Raphael thought he might be imagining it.

Cutting through the fog settling over the archangel's senses, a honeyed, buzzing voice said, "Marquis Asmodeus? If you are quite finished, we ought to leave. His comradezz will find him soon enough."

Hardly had the voice finished speaking when the warmth that Raphael had been clinging to receded. The shadows uncoiled as well, and with nothing to hold him up, the healer collapsed on the dirt floor in a heap of wings and white robes.

"Good-bye, Thrones," Beelzebub called out personably, waving to Raphael and smirking at the angel. "It'zz been a pleasure."

The Duke's voice was faint and seemed to come from very far away. Raphael struggled to lift his head and was just able to catch a glimpse of Asmodeus winching in his wings and summoning shadows to transfer himself and Beelzebub from Earth's plane back to Hell's. Raphael's eyes met Asmodeus's for a brief moment, but then the archangel's head swam with dizziness, and he slumped back to the floor.

* * *

Raphael awakened to the sound of someone calling his name, and there was light all around him, warm angelic Light. Managing to open his eyes, Raphael looked up into the face of one of his assistants, Virtues Zoraiel, and kneeling beside him was another angel, Principality Eyrelee. Both their auras were glowing brightly, filling the whole room, and Raphael's head was being gently cradled in Zoraiel's lap.

The Virtues tenderly stroked Raphael's forehead, the fabric of his silken glove soft against the archangel's skin. "Don't worry, sir," he said. "Everything will be alright now."

Eyrelee gripped his hand tightly and nodded. "Hold on please, Lord Raphael," she pleaded, tears welling up in her bright blue eyes. "We've already summoned Cherubim Gabriel. You'll be back in Heaven soon, sir."

Her voice faded, and Raphael's eyes slid shut. Yes, back to Heaven. So everything had worked out just as Hell wanted...

* * *

Though he was not awake to witness it, Gabriel did come shortly after, and Raphael was taken back to Heaven to heal. Unhappily, Raphael recuperated in the Silver City of Seventh Heaven, berating himself for so foolishly letting his guard down, but ultimately, the Bubonic Plague did not last for as long as Raphael and some other angels had feared. Thanks to the efforts of the angels, such as Virtues Zoraiel, that Raphael had brought to Earth and to Cherubim Gabriel who had interceded when Raphael was unable, the Plague finally tapered off shortly after 1351 though that was hardly the end of it.

There were still occasional outbreaks of the plague in the world though, and Raphael was called to Earth for some of those. He was there in 1369 as well as Norwich in 1579 and Newcastle in 1636.

Always when he responded to these outbreaks, the healer was careful to never let his energy levels get so low again. Raphael kept an eye on the shadows too, still half-expecting Asmodeus or Beelzebub to appear while the angel was fighting back the plague, but neither demon ever did.

-fin-

Also, if you're interested in seeing some of my artwork, there are links in my profile to art of Asmodeus, Raphael, and Beelzebub as well as an Asmodeus/Raphael ficart for this story.


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